


Breaking Bad

by Hack_Generation, Pirateweasel



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Crack, Humor, M/M, genderbender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hack_Generation/pseuds/Hack_Generation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateweasel/pseuds/Pirateweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Desmond somehow becomes an inmate at a maximum security penitiary along with an inmate that rules the corrupted place with an iron fist. Desmond needs protection, who will give it to him?. multii-chap 1 shot/ fic battle with ColdHiddenBlade/ Prison AU/ MalikDes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desmond-Who-The-What-Now?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic battle between me and ColdHiddenBlade! Check out her stories on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> Onward and enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik hears rumors about Desmond.  
> Who is the little novice hiding in his cell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a Prison AU would be perfect for this pairing. Since there isn't much of this OTP why not toss out some more?

Malik Al-Sayf. A war veteran amputee serving 25 years in prison for assault and killing of 3 men during a bad episode of PTSD. The men happened to be Templars. The one-armed Syrian refused to plead insanity; he's a proud man and his mother didn't raise a liar. Jury sentenced him guilty of all charges.

 

When Malik is sent to a maximum security prison, nobody has the balls to mess with him. Except Altair, of course. But that idiot is given parole and leaves early after a rather harsh ass kicking from the vet.

 

Desmond Miles. A top bartender at the most popular night club Bad Weather. He's easy on the eyes and has a punch that most violent drunks swear rivals Floyd Mayweather and Muhammad Ali. He just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Framed for killing his friend's girlfriend when he walked into the middle of a heist gone wrong. Desmond's confusion and bewildered fear convince the jury only to sentence him for 20 years, especially after new evidence comes to light.

 

Miles somehow ends up in the same prison as Al-Sayf.

 

Rumors spread about the bartender that looks exactly like Altair with a mean punch and a supposedly "hot ass." Fresh meat that is up for grabs by any of the sexually deprived and frustrated inmates who are all too eager to get a taste.

* * *

 

 

Desmond keeps to himself, hardly coming out of his cell to avoid trouble with the other prisoners. He's not scared really, he'd been to juvie before, but this was a whole different level of prison. He hates going to the cafeteria, because a million eyes would be staring at different parts of his body.

 

Not to mention the catcalls, wolf whistles, and jeers. Desmond especially hated the cook that sneered at him and made crude gestures. It took all the patience he had not to hit the man square in the jaw. So far the only fight he'd gotten into was with his cell mate, something-Auditore-or-whatever. The man had been flirting with him; which he'd ignored until something-Auditore-or-whatever copped a feel.

 

It couldn't really be counted as a fight. All he did was give the Italian a panicked punch to the jaw and stomach. The weirdo went down for the count.

 

As time went on though, more inmates began to bother him; just as he feared they would. The men didn't get too close on account of the Italian cell mate and his exaggerated story. Desmond was glad for that; however, taking a shower was getting on the former bartender's nerves. A blonde inmate, who was quite friendly, told him not to drop his soap. Desmond honestly had no idea what the man was talking about; then a small person several stalls down was jumped when a bar of soap slid out of his hands and he made the mistake of bending to pick it up.

 

Desmond left the showers quickly after that.

* * *

 

 

Malik hears the rumors; at first he assumes it's just some stupid novice thinking he could survive in maximum security prison.

 

He was wrong.

 

 

The veteran doesn't see Desmond at all the first several weeks, until long after the incident with Ezio and Leonardo's advice in the showers. Hell, all he has is a name. Desmond Miles. That's it. However, Leonardo tells him that Desmond has a great skill in disappearing and cooping himself up in his cell.

 

 

Malik expects that Desmond is going to be forced to join everyone in the courtyards for physical activities. The guards are getting agitated and Yusuf Tazim, one of his trusted friends, informs him that they're getting tired of being nice and want to drag Desmond out to toss him to the dogs.

 

* * *

 

"So, this Desmond everyone is talking about is just a mouse afraid to come out his cage?" Malik asks Leonardo who is drawing on the wall. The Syrian is sitting on his cot, cell mates with the Italian.

 

"Well, I wouldn't say mouse,  _amico mio_ , more like a frightened sparrow," the blonde replied with an easy smile. One reason the inmate wasn't getting picked on was because he and Ezio were currently together; also because that smile and calm demeanor could become terrifying if you pushed him far enough.

 

Malik snorted. "Yeah, right. What's he in for?" toying with a small blade as he asked the question. A security guard walked by, glancing at them and carrying on. Corruption does have it's perks. Had it been one of the newer personnel they would've tried to confiscate the blade; which would've resulted in a fight and the said personnel being fired.

 

"Heist gone bad, killing his _amico's_ girlfriend. Though the way he acts suggest he was framed," Leonardo finished the doodle of a sunflower and began to draw a face of someone.

 

"And he looks like that oaf, Altair?" The veteran laid down on his bed, boredom leaving him staring at the man.

 

" _Sí,_   the resemblance is striking but there are differences!" An excited sound leaves the blonde's throat as he begins to scribble and sketch on the wall. Malik pushes himself up and off the bed with a grunt to see who it is that's being drawn.

 

"And just a little over here...same scar, different eyes. More of a lithe build, lean muscle. _Viola_!" Leonardo scoots to the side. Malik's eyes sharpened.

 

Well, hot dang in a bang! This motherfucker's more than easy on the eyes! Thanks to Leo's attention to detail and artistic prowess Malik now had a face to go with the name.

 

"Have I told you how much I love your photographic memory?" the war vet asked with a smirk.

 

"No, but you don't want to say that around Ezio," Leonardo joked.

 

''I don't care what the novice thinks. I run this place with an iron fist!" Malik huffed, moving back to his cot, putting away his blade under the pillow.

 

Abruptly a voice shouted out, "Okay ladies, lights out! Curfew is up! Beauty sleep, ya' vermin!" The lights dimmed and gates locked as inmates wandered back to their cells.

 

As one man walked by muttering to himself about stupid inmates and creepy people in general, Malik had shifted to his side as he lay on his bed, catching a glimpse of a stranger. He blinked as his mind processed who he just saw; he hadn't seen the boy's face but the build of his body and the apprehensive way he moved rang a bell in his head. The person walked down the hall and into a cell; his voice being heard when Ezio entered that cell as well.

 

"No. Stay on your side; I'll stay on mine. I don't want any trouble."

 

" _Sí, amico mio._ Good night, little sparrow~"

 

Apparently, the Auditore shared the same opinion about Desmond as Leonardo.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Desmond," Malik whispered to himself, "Whether you like it or not." He was going to have a little chat with La Volpe about getting Desmond to come out with everyone else to the court yards tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Volpe is so hella


	2. A Nod To Shawshank Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dios mio you want me to retrieve a person!?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [Part 2] guys.
> 
> I'm having too much fun with this. And it's un-beta'ed so expect some uh...issues?
> 
> And as for the flashback, here's a small bit of info; Altair still kept in touch with Des through letters. However, Des left out some things in the letters so yeah...enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Allons-y!

Desmond should've known something was going to happen. He was stupid to think he could survive if he remained in his cell to avoid contact with other inmates. Especially since word was spreading about a certain man.

 

It was the middle of the day. He hadn't gone to the cafeteria and refused to come out, much to the annoyance of the guards who eventually gave up and left him alone.

 

Desmond didn't care; because a certain someone was looking for him. Someone by the name of Malik Al-Sayf. When Altair had gotten paroled the first thing he'd done was tell the bartender about his time behind bars.  At first, Desmond had scoffed at the idea of corruption in the prison system but now that he thought about it...

 

He was freaking **terrified**.

 

Unfortunately he remembered the conversation as if it had happened yesterday.

* * *

 

 

_"Oh hey, Altair! So, you're outta prison now?" Desmond asked as the man sat down. The day was slow and hot, a few customers to keep him busy, but otherwise he was idle._

 

_"Yes. What's it to you?" The Syrian man slouched over the counter top of the bar. Desmond rolled his eyes and began cleaning glasses._

 

_"Just glad to see ya' is all. Jeez, wassa matta you, Altair?" he huffed._

 

_"Racist. You said that on purpose." Altair slapped a $20 down on the counter. "Hit me."_

 

_A smile, then a sudden hit to the shoulder._

 

_"Ow!" A few people looked lazily in the direction of the person who exclaimed his pain. "The fuck was that for?!"_

 

_"You said to hit you."_

 

_"Not literally."_

 

_"You'll live."_

 

_Desmond smirked. Altair scowled for a bit before admitting, "Okay you got me there; and yeah, maybe I should've had more to say instead of just 'waltzing in here',  as you put it."_

 

_"Correct." The bartender made him a Shirley Templar, a favorite among the regulars, but he made it a little spicier because that's how Altair liked it._

 

_"So, am I going to be blackmailed for that moment? Because honestly, I hate doing that. Can I walk out and come back in and start over?" Altair looked both irritated and sorry, which was a first._

 

_"What is there **to** say?" Desmond murmured, a worn and weary look in his eyes. Yeah, sure they were related and Altair was the only one that knew he was a runaway; however, the man had been gone for a long time. Enough for things and people to change._

_"Well, for starters...I can tell you why I'm out a week earlier than I'm supposed to be." He smirked in his familiar way when Desmond turned his head and slightly tilted it, just like a bird. Speaking of which—"Quick question though, how's Kadar and that bird? What's it's name? MalAstairOnd?"_

_"Uh, yeah, that's the eagle's nam. He mixed our names together. Mine, his brother's and your's. Kadar is fine..." Desmond didn't look at Altair for a moment; he felt his relative's eyes on him with a stare that meant he wanted Des to elaborate._

 

_"We're roommates; he moved into the guest-room."_

 

_Altair gave him a I-totally-win-and-I-know-it smile. "Knew it! Made a bet with Benny before I left."_

 

_"Your parole officer?!" The bartender's brows furrowed. What the hell did a policemen do that for?_

 

_Desmond's relative coughed. "Moving on! You want me to tell you why I'm out early, or what?" He leaned on the counter with a serious look on his face._

 

_"Sure," Desmond quickly agreed._

* * *

 

 La Volpe a.k.a _The Fox_ , a thief by trade. His career was what got him stuck in this prison in the first place after he was set up by his partner and Master Thief, Garrett.

 

At first it had been insulting; the ever evasive Fox finally caged. But he quickly learned that as long as he resided in prison no real harm could come to him. Besides, he was the person everyone went to if they wanted something. He was the guy that could get you anything from cigarettes, posters of girls, and candy to small knives and art utensils.

 

(Yes, Leonardo,  _The Fox_ knows all about your impressive doodles on the walls...)

 

La Volpe , not just a thief, but also what he liked to call an associate of the one-armed bastard that ruled with a single fist. Whatever Malik needed, La Volpe got for him. Or if it was a favor, he'd do it. A true thief never went back on their word and he was more than happy to do what was asked of him. Al-Sayf had saved the Fox on a number of occasions.

 

It was the least he could do.

 

However there was one **teeny** little problem. He had to go retrieve not an object, oh no, he had to fetch an **inmate of all things!**

 

_"Dios mio...y_ ou want me to retrieve a person?!"

 

"Yes...yes I do Volpe." Malik answered, boredom in his tone. The man had been toying with Leonardo's carving knife that artist used to make chess pieces out of chunks of wood from the workshop.

 

"I can't bring someone into prison!"

 

Malik huffed, "You're smarter than that _Fox_."

 

La Volpe felt insulted. "You want one of the inmates, then. If I may ask...what for?"

 

"You've heard the security complaining," Malik smiled slightly. He had an apparent humor for irritating them.

 

"Yes, and you want me to draw him out?" The thief scowled.

 

"Now you're thinking." The inmate smirked as he leaned against the bars of his cell. "They're complaining and I want to meet the bird that hides in his cage."

"As usual, payment will be yours after you get him into the courtyard," Malik said, almost as an afterthought.

 

La Volpe had raised his brow at his associate's metaphor, but nonetheless he'd agreed. And now he was walking down the hall after fearlessly climbing the rails to get to the third floor.

 

The thief was irritated. He'd paid the rather large security man to look the other way when he climbed and he muttered to himself as he drew near Desmond's cell.

 

"The things I do for a bit of coin. He won't even come out because he's too much of a _bambino_!" Of course La Volpe was mad. He stuck to his word though and walked briskly down the hall. Why did this Desmond have to be cell mates with Ezio, too? That man, to him, was stupid. Especially because the Auditore flirted with two of the female security guards.

* * *

 

 

Desmond had heard someone walking closer to his cell. Thinking it was another security person about to come and bother him about going into the courtyard he groaned and rolled over in his bunk to face the wall.

The person's steps were soft, like Altair's. This puzzled him because nobody walked silently. He heard the person come right to the door of his cell.

 

"So, this is the one that _bastardo_ wanted me to get? You must be Desmond,  _si_?"

 

Desmond rolled over in irritation; sitting up glaring. He thought it was something-Auditore-or-whatever again. But his eyes widened in surprise at the male leaning against the bars with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. The inmate's face had features that were so fine he was almost prett. A sense of intelligence and mischief were in his eyes that made him seem sly and mysterious.

 

La Volpe was amazed. Desmond's momentary glare mirrored Altair's. So, the rumors of a bartender that looked exactly like him were true. This guy was the spitting image and with the same scar, too.

 

His glare also reminded LA Volpe of an irritated falcon.

 

But there were also differences. Altair was more muscularly built than Desmond; with almost golden eyes and shaggier auburn hair, although it was short like the man before him. Desmond's eyes were a dark hazel with flecks of gold here and there; exotic like his counterpart. Desmond was also smaller.

 

"What do you want?" He subtly hunched in on himself while sitting on his bed to look non-threatening to the inmate in his cell. His lithe body, to La Volpe, looked fragile like a small animal. La Volpe's smirk was even wider; no wonder he was called a sparrow.

 

Pushing off the bars and waltzing into the room, the thief eyed Desmond.  His attractiveness didn't go unnoticed but ogling him wasn't what he was here for.

 

"To cut to the point,  **Desmond** , you need to come out of your cage." He raised a hand when the man was about to object. "I was sent by a client to escort you to the courtyards; or would you rather have the security guards drag you out?"

 

Now the former bartender was interested. He tilted his head and regarded the person before him. The inmate noticed the movement. Altair did the same thing; it was strange how the two people had bird-like habits.

 

"Who is your client? And who are you?" Desmond seemed to relax. La Volpe wasn't going to injure him or...he shuddered...cop a major feel.

 

"Well, I am not what slang names a **snitch**. Confidentiality and the like, no?" He bowed with a florish. "I am simply called _The_   _Fox_. A thief I was and thief I will always be. I can smuggle anything in here that you want; but there must be a fair trade. A business of sorts, if you will."

 

" _Shawshank Redemption_ much?" the Syrian asked with a raised brow and crossed arms.

 

LA Volpe looked up at Desmond from his bow and straightened, ignoring the reference that he would later research. "We mustn't keep him waiting,  _si_?"

* * *

 

_"I'm not going to waste time with a whole exaggerated story of what actually happened. I basically got my ass handed to me by a past friend." Altair sported a grimace on his face._

 

_"Wow, what'd ya do? Piss him off?" Desmond shut up at the glare he got._

 

_"Yes, actually, he read a letter that I got from you and read the one I was going to send back while I was dealing with a stupid Italian." Altair sounded annoyed at the end of the sentence._

 

_"So, he was being nosy?"_

 

_"Yes; but he had a right to know, too." Altair sighed and ran his hand through his hair, a somber look on his face._

 

_Desmond frowned at that. **W** **ho** had a right to know? And know what? He didn't ask, though, because he had a feeling his questions, though unvoiced, would be answered._

* * *

 

 

Desmond huffed and got off his bed. He hated how firm the mattress was and the how thin the sheets were. It was warm during the night since it was summer. That didn't mean he wasn't cold though.

 

La Volpe exited the cell and walked a bit down the hall, stopping to wait for the prisoner. Desmond halted at the door and leaned to look out; body tensed and coiled to run and disappear at the first sign of trouble. The place was empty, though; and he breathed out, hurrying to the thief's side.

 

As they made their way down the hall he couldn't help but ask, "Why are you in here? You look way too smart for the police to catch you." He tensed when the man turned his head slightly and gazed at him from the corner of his eye.

 

Maybe he shouldn't have asked. Desmond was ready to make a run for it when to his relief he was answered. "A partner double crossed me. Astonishing really, I should've seen it coming; I trusted him too much. Goes to show you have to look out for yourself." He walked faster. "Let us make haste; he doesn't possess patience for those who fool around!"

 

Desmond kept pace with La Volpe. He felt bad for him. To be betrayed by someone you trust must hurt a lot; and he probably had trust issues as well.

 

Again, he wondered who the inmate's client was as they made their way to the courtyards.

* * *

 

 

_"We got into an argument over his younger brother and how I knew him. We used to be together in the service before he lost his right arm while saving his brother."_

 

_Desmond winced.  He'd heard small bits of the story from Kadar but not enough to piece together what he got from Altair on the occasions he felt like telling. He knew Altair had been in the service before and when he got the call about his cousin in the hospital along with Kadar, he'd panicked._

 

_"We didn't see eye to eye, either," Altair said with a chuckle._

 

_"That must'a been bad. I mean, seeing someone you hate in while you're in prison," Desmond said as he cleaned cleaned a glass and made another Shirley Templar for Altair._

 

_"Yeah, in the same cell too. We gave each other the cold shoulder; didn't speak unless we had to."_

 

_"That's just asking for trouble."_

 

_"We did own the place though; security didn't give two shits as long as we paid them. Being war vets gave us an edge."_

 

_"So, what happened?"_

 

_Altair sighed._

* * *

 

 

It was bright and hot outside. The courtyards were huge; with places where inmates could play basketball or lift weights. There was also shade where trees grew. Tables were bolted to the dusty ground and concrete.

 

Inmates were together in different groups like high school cliques. When Desmond stepped out into the sun he squinted so his eyes could adjust.

 

La Volpe let his gaze slide over the men to find Malik. The man could blend in and go unnoticed unless he wanted you to see him. He felt Desmond move closer to his side and hide partially behind him. Turning his head to look backwards, he saw Desmond trying to shrink back.

 

Desmond felt all eyes on him; he hated it. It made his skin crawl, made him jumpy and on edge. He felt like a cornered animal, unable to escape and skittish.

 

The thief rolled his eyes and said, "Stand straight, head high and don't look at them; focus on me,  _capise_?"

Desmond slowly did as told and nodded.

La Volpe felt a twinge of sympathy for him. The inmate was only 25 years old and definitely didn't belong here. He was surprised that Desmond wasn't dead or mentally scarred yet.

 

They slowly made their way through the groups toward the largest tree in the corner of the courtyard. As they passed through the catcalls began.

 

"So, that  _Fox_ finally got the booty, yeah?"

 

"Mm! Dat ass! The new one gonna be **my bitch** if nobody claim him!"

 

La Volpe's jaw clenched very slowly as kept his face straight. Desmond kept his eyes on the man and felt pure annoyance radiating off him. Desmond himself felt agitated by the slurs and insults thrown their way.

* * *

 

 

_"I walked into the cell and he looked like he was going to beat the shit out of me. He was holding the letters in his hand. His face was...it was calm but you could tell where was going to be trouble."_

 

_Desmond listened carefully, leaning against the bar counter._

 

_"Everybody cleared out or locked their cells because when he's mad he won't hesitate to do serious damage. He killed an inmate twice his size, once."_

 

_"How?" Desmond's brows furrowed in a worried look._

 

_"Broke his knee by stabbing it with a piece of glass and then  punching his Adam's apple, **hard**."_

 

_"Damn."_

* * *

 

 

_"_ Naaah, man; better if we teach him a few tricks!"

 

"Nigga, you trippin'.  Look were he goin'. We ain't got nothin' on him less that guy say so!"

 

"What you mean? I just wanna taste...bet you his flavor be fruit cocktail!"

 

"I like my bitches like I like my beer...sun-kissed skin and exotic!"

 

Desmond repressed the urge to run away; fighting his fight-or-flight response. When they got halfway through, he and La Volpe had to slow down since a female security guard stood watch by the entrance to the workshop. She had blonde hair and blue eyes that just **dared** him to do something. Her hand was on her holster; her belt equipped with a can of mace and a taser gun as well as a sedative gun and pistol with a radio.

 

As the two inmates walked passed her, La Volpe acknowledged the woman.

 

"Ms. Stillman."

 

" _Fox."_

 

"Another job?"

 

" _Si."_

 

"And how are you?"

 

" _Molto bene._  I hope you are well."

 

"No nonsense today, as usual."

 

" _Bene_."

 

"Get on now and give **him** my regards." She nodded towards the tree. "You stay out of trouble, new guy," she said to Desmond. He nodded at her and followed La Volpe.

 

"Who was that?"

 

"Lucy Stillman. Been here several months now; no one messes with her unless they want a taser to their _testicolos."_

 

Desmond raised a brow. "That sounds painful."

 

"But it works, no?"

 

"I guess..."

* * *

 

 

_Altair took a few moments to drink his poison. Finally, he cleared his throat. "So, he started asking questions; ones I didn't really want to answer because he was pissed off already and I knew he was going to lash out sooner or later."_

 

_"He lost his patience?"_

 

_"Yes; most of the time when I did something that made him want to punch my face, which was **all** the time—" _

 

_He rolled his eyes and huffed "—because anything I did just rubbed him the wrong way, he'd just call me a stupid **novice** and walk away." _

 

_"So he held it in and exploded on you," Desmond summarized._

 

_"Ugh, also the fact that I was getting out early and he wasn't. The way he saw it, I was robbing him of his brother and his life. Which if you think about it I kind of...did." Altair's eyes looked sad._

* * *

 

 

Desmond let out an nervous sound of terror when he felt a hand grope his behind.

 

"Nice arse ya' got there kid~" a man with a cockney accent to his voice said.

 

Desmond couldn't stop himself from reacting this time. Lifting his lip into a snarl, he snapped his head around in a 180 so fast, one would think he'd have to be treated for whiplash.

 

He turned and glared, a faint hiss leaving his throat like an aggravated eagle. He'd learned that from living with Altair; the man rubbed off on him too much.

 

A gasp left the groper's throat and he recoiled his hand.

" **Jaysus**!"

 

"Hickey, leave that boy alone," a British accented voice admonished.

 

"Sorry, 'aytham...but, jaysus! Did ya' see that look on his face? I thought he was Altair for a moment."

 

Haytham pinched the bridge of his noise and breathed out in a sigh; the behavior of a weary parent scolding an unruly kid. "Quit making a fool of yourself and leave him be. I am sorry for his acting out," the man said to LA Volpe,  "Give my thanks for last week to your client when you see him."

 

"Of course,  _signore_ Kenway," La Volpe said, as he smirked and headed for the tree. Desmond stuck closely to him now.

 

"Don't do that again little sparrow; that reaction could've ended you and resulted in a bad deal with my customer." The thief's voice was nonchalant but an undercurrent of a threatening tone was felt by Desmond.

 

As they drew closer he noticed a figure standing against the tree with his hand in his pocket.

 

He also had one arm. Other people were sitting at tables around the tree; Desmond's intuition told him these people were with the one-armed man.

 

"Yusuf Tazim, Shaun Hastings, Ezio Auditore, Leonardo Da Vinci, Edward Kenway, Arno Dorian, Rebecca Crane, and Connor Kenway..." La Volpe listed off their names while they approached.

* * *

 

 

_"There were things I shouldn't have said and suggesting that at least I didn't have a problem with **shrinks** really set him off."_

 

_"He needed help?"_

 

_"Bad episode of PTSD is what landed him 25 years in jail."_

 

_"Oh..."_

 

_"Didn't really think about my words 'till Benny came and got me out the clinic."_

 

_"Hypocrite."_

 

_"What?"_

 

_"You're a hypocrite; before you got sent off to prison you had problems with seeing a therapist."_

 

_"Hey! I did go to therapy—"_

 

_A dull expression from the bartender was what Altair got in response._

 

_"—eventually..."_

 

_Desmond was the only one who could make Altair feel like a tiny child with the look he gave him._

 

* * *

 

"Ah, my client! It is good to see you!" La Volpe exlcaimed as he approached the figure.

 

"Took you long enough," the man said.

 

" _Mi dispiace_ , I am wounded by your judgement, _amico."_ The thief put a hand over his heart in a dramatic manner.The man huffed and rolled his eyes as they drew closer.

 

"Desmond Miles, correct?" he asked.

 

Desmond frowned. "Yeah?"

 

This guy was too familiar.

 

La Volpe's sly smile spread across his face. "Introductions are in order. This is my client; he was just **dying** to meet you."

 

Said client's clique observed Desmond like he was something new and exciting.

 

"Nice one,  _Fox,"_ the only girl in the group, Rebecca, said with a burst of laughter.

 

" _Grazie_ ~"

* * *

 

_"We threw some punches and shit, but he was fast. Obviously he learned to compensate for his missing arm and it gave him an advantage."_

 

_Desmond winced in sympathy for his relative. "He really took you down, didn't he?"_

 

_"Gave me a black eye, dislocated shoulder, and concussion from a hit to the head. Also got my nose broken because his punch is like yours; plus he had momentum and much more strength behind it."_

 

_"What does he look like? If I ever end up in jail I'll stay away from him."_

 

_Altair just sat there with an expression of 'why-do-you-want-to-know?' on his face. Desmond merely shrugged. The Syrian decided to humor him._

 

_"You already know he is missing a left arm—_ "

 

* * *

 

 

The inmate spotted the empty folded sleeve and averted his eyes to look at the man's face.

 

His brows furrowed. "Do I know you?"

* * *

 

 

_"—He also is taller than you and his eyes are different shades of storm grey."_

 

_Desmond tossed a rag at his face when Altair gave him a smug look after he mentioned the guy's height._

* * *

 

 

"I've never seen you before, so...no. You don't know me." The voice had a hardness to it. Clipped and to the point like a military man.

 

Desmond saw his eyes; the feeling of knowing him grew stronger.

 

"I think I've heard of you somewhere."

* * *

 

 

_"The guy will call you a novice if you're being an idiot or if you have a habit that he deems stupid."_

 

_"Really?"_

 

_"Yes; he did that to me all the time!"_

 

_Desmond snorted in amusement_.

* * *

 

 

"I don't think any kind of **novice**  that hides in his cell would've heard of me." The remark stung.

 

The former bartender felt judged already.

 

"So you know my name but I don't know yours. What do you want with me?" he asked, nervously. Danger and power came rolling off the stranger in waves.

 

* * *

 

 

_"Also a bit of a goatee. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't have one now," Altair said as he played with the shot of Shirley Templar._

 

_"I can imagine you growing a mustache, curly and western," Desmond sniggered._

 

_"Seriously Des', why did you have to put that ridiculous image in my head?"_

 

_"Kadar and I talked about it since razors aren't allowed in jail. We imagined you coming home with a face like Chuck Norris!"_

 

_Altair face palmed._

* * *

 

Desmond recognized the hair on the man's face and he instinctively hunched in on himself to look weak and forgettable.

 

"Why should I tell you?"

 

"Just a question is all..."

 

"Then I guess I should enlighten you to who I am." The inmate stepped out into the sunlight and the former bartender paled.

* * *

 

 

_"Basically just watch out for a man named—"_

 

 

* * *

 

 

                                                        "Pleasure to meet you. My name is—"

 

 

* * *

 

 

                                                                             " _Malik—_ "

 

* * *

 

 

                                                                              "Malik—"

                                                          Dread weighed heavily in Desmond's gut.

 

* * *

 

 

                                                                           " _—Al-Sayf"_

 

* * *

 

 

**"—Al-Sayf,"**  Desmond finished the man's name for him in a whisper.

 

                                                                    Malik smirked. "Correct."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [End of Part 2]
> 
> Owari~


	3. Confrontation! Fire & Ice!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However, unlike Malik whose glare scorched, Desmond’s glare was freezing.
> 
> Malik burned while Desmond pierced with ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desmond is a mouthy lil shiz-nit.  
> Malik has had enough.

 

Malik still had that smirk on his face, knowing that Desmond’s reaction was out of slight fear. Grabbing a fistful of said inmate’s shirt, Malik dragged Desmond forward and let go of the clothing to drape his arm around Desmond’s waist.

 

Desmond felt like panicking.

 

He didn’t know what to do in this situation. Malik Al-Sayf was the last person he wanted to meet in this prison. He felt dumb for following La Volpe, however what else could he have done?

 

The Fox cleared his throat. Malik leveled him with a steady gaze.

 

“Don’t move Desmond.”

 

Malik let go of Desmond to reach behind himself, slipping out a brown package that fit neatly in the vet’s hand. Desmond watched as the thief’s eyes lit up with excitement. Malik tossed it into the air. La Volpe leaped gracefully to catch it and scurried off, disappearing to wherever it was that he resided.

 

“If he jumps that high I wonder why he hasn’t either escaped or attempted to,” a voice from one of Malik’s entourage, Arno Dorian, stated plainly.

 

Shaun huffed, “He isn’t stupid, you know.”

 

“We know that from his name,” Connor sighed, as he propped his head up with a hand.

 

“That’s just a literal translation,” the Brit grumbled. Desmond deemed him the grouch of the lot.

 

“Everyone this is Desmond. He’ll be with us for now on.” Malik had his arm around Desmond’s waist again and brought him to the table.

 

The group stared at him. It was unnerving and the former bartender didn’t like it. Their eyes seemed to dissect him. What made it worse was that he was in direct body contact with Malik Al-Sayf. Of all the people he could have ended up with it had to be him!?

 

Desmond smelled what was on the Syrian out of impulse. The scent wasn’t bad, almost comforting…

 

“Uh…hi?” He had no idea what to do. Maybe a simple greeting would suffice?

 

Edward stood and put out a hand.

 

 Desmond eyed it.

 

“Go on lad, give me a shake. I won’t bite!”

 

He shook the hand awkwardly. Edward sat down next to Connor...

 

Lucy came out with another woman; a black security guard who also had no-nonsense air about her. “Alright men! Time to go back inside! Lunchtime! Everybody get those lazy asses moving!”

 

Al-Sayf moved ahead of the group, the others followed him. Desmond couldn’t help thinking of them as a pack of…not wolves, really, but maybe lions.

 

 As they passed by the security women, Lucy gave him a knowing smile and a wink. The other woman waved at Connor. The man’s face darkened in a subtle blush and he gave a half wave back.

 

Ezio and Rebecca sniggered.

 

Edward answered Desmond’s questioning look at the security, knowing what he was going to ask.

 

 “That’s Aveline De Grand’pre. My lad here seems to fancy her.”

 

Connor muttered, “Do not. Just a friend.”

 

“She doesn’t look like a lady friend; your _amore_ is more like it,” Ezio said with a knowing grin. Connor ignored the Auditore.

 

Malik led the pack into the cafeteria. Leonardo automatically went to scout a table with Ezio.  The place was becoming noisy with the general chatter of the inmates as they filled into the large facility. The rest of the group followed the one-armed war vet to the food line. Desmond assumed Malik would be first for most things, until the man took a step back to let Rebecca out of the line with her tray to go up to the front where the food was.

 

Desmond let out a sound of curiosity and worry.

 

Glancing at the man from the corner of his eye, Malik said, “Everyone lets her go first. It’s a rule.”

 

“Oh…why?”

 

Turning his head partially so he could see better, Al-Sayf found the expression of on Desmond’s face endearing. It seemed Miles was eager to learn how the hierarchy of prison worked. ‘ _Very different from Altair indeed_ ,’ he surmised.

 

 For some reason a strange feeling of satisfaction warmed the inmate, especially since the former bartender was sticking to him like he did La Volpe.

 

“For starters, she may seem calm; however if you’re a glutton for punishment, Rebecca goes from that—“his eyes flickered in her direction. The said female was a ball of super perky energy, talkative and bouncy as she filled tray with food. “—to a murderously insane woman that knows several ways to electrocute you without getting caught. She’s also an expert with anything sharp and pointy.”

 

Desmond blanched. Malik’s explanation meant that she was too dangerous to be in an all women prison. Who knows what she could do to him if he did something foolish?

 

 _‘Good_ ,’ thought Malik. ‘ _Let him be afraid. Fear is good; it’ll help him survive_.’ The war vet’s gut, however, said otherwise. It dreaded the anxiety in Miles' hazel eyes.

* * *

 

Malik sighed heavily when he heard a particular group of inmates approach the line.

 

“I heard there’s fresh meat in here! What do you think Robert?”

 

The Syrian would have known that voice anywhere.

 

“I’m not sure, but I do see your personal enemy over there.” Robert De Sable responded with a sneer. The inmate was tall with broad shoulders and chest. A scar was visible on his bald head as well. Most people likened him to main character of the Hit Man game.

 

“ **Auditore** …” the other man hissed the name.

 

Inwardly Al-Sayf grumbled in disgust. Césare Borgia, an inmate he detested with every fiber of his being.

 

The man harassed Malik’s group whenever he had the chance. Césare also wanted to be at the top of the food chain; and was willing to do anything to get the war vet out of his way.  He never fought on his own, often hiding behind his followers, acting as leader of the Borgia gang.  Césare was –in Malik’s opinion– a coward and a cheat.

* * *

 

Desmond grimaced when he received his food; it looked like something died in it. The colour seemed to be off and smelled odd. When he got to the end to receive his water he murmured a “Thank you.” to the inmate who poured his water, before turning to leave.

 

However a hand stopped him from walking way, grabbing his wrist. Alarmed and trying not to show it he locked eyes with a food-server.

 

“I haven’t seen your pretty face around here…” The man was fat, with slightly meaty hands.

 

“Y-yeah…uh, I kind of have to be somewhere—“he tried to tug his hand away from the inmate but the grip around his wrist tightened painfully.

 

“Where you trying to run to, hmm? I can show you a real good time.”

 

“No, thanks…I’m not into that sort of…thing.”

 

“Are you calling me ugly or something?”

 

“Not really; No offense, man!”

 

“I think you’re scared, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you—“ the fat man was interrupted by a snarl.

 

Malik couldn’t stop himself from growling, as his shadow fell across the man who was leaning over to counter hold Desmond in place.

 

“Leave him alone, Rodrigo **.** ” The war vet’s glare was hotter than his desert homeland, grey eyes freezing Rodrigo on the spot.

 

The whole cafeteria fell silent, conversations suddenly halting. Heads turned to look at the oncoming confrontation. Nobody dared breathe too loud; nobody moved. You could hear a pin drop. A room empty of any and all noise, a large void without sound.

 

“M-Malik!” Rodrigo stuttered.

 

“Let him go.” Al-Sayf’s voice was darker than black.

 

The hand only loosened marginally, going for subtle defiance.

 

The one-armed man wasn’t having any of it. His patience was thin when it came to the Borgia.

 

“That is an order. Or else—“A sliver of glass seemed to appear out of nowhere with Malik’s sleight of hand skill, pulled from the confines of his clothes. He stabbed the hand resting on the counter, instantly causing the other hand on Desmond’s wrist to let go.

 

Miles stumbled backward. Rodrigo gave a cry of pain and blubbered, “S-stop! Let me go!” He was trying to yank his hand away but Malik dug the glass in deeper. The large inmate got the hint and stopped moving.

 

“How **dare** you touch what is not **yours**?” The Syrian bared his teeth slightly.

 

Rodrigo tried to explain himself, “I-I’m sorry Malik! I didn’t know!”

 

“You’re lying…” The glass dug into the stabbed hand deeper, the Borgia man whimpered in pain. “Do it again, and there will be Hell to pay.”

 

 

Another man approached Malik directly, a sneer on his face. He was the one De Sable had spoken to. The inmate was just about the same height as Malik, but the build of his body was neither broad nor slender, a perfect balance in the middle. The man was of Spaniard heritage; his hair was cut short in a manly style of a bob. He also had the start of a thin beard with a mustache and goatee.

 

Malik let go of the glass sliver, stepping out of the line as his crew approached behind him. The war vet pushed Desmond into the middle of the group, like a ring of elephants protecting their offspring with tusks out.

 

 

 

Ezio growled, “You again, what do you want _bastardo_?”

 

 

 

Césare Borgia, the leader of one of the prison’s factions, made a point of ignoring Ezio to speak to Malik.

 

 

 

“Look what we have here…fresh meet indeed.”

 

 

 

“Move on Borgia.” Malik stated.

 

 

 

Césare shrugged, “For the moment. That one’s so fresh he’s practically raw; and I’ve never cared much for cherry juice.”

 

 

 

Malik glared, curling his lip into a snarl.

 

 

 

“Teach him a few tricks Al-Sayf—,’’ Césare smirked “—although he looks like he could toss a nice ‘Césare salad’!” the inmate laughed cruelly.

 

 

 

Edward rotated to the front, “Leave the lad be, we don’t want trouble do we?”

 

 

 

Robert was by Césare’s side, another member of the Borgia sidled up to him as well.

 

 

 

“Lucrezia!” Ezio snarled angrily. He recognized that traitor; Lucrezia was once Leonardo’s friend until he tried to recruit him to the Borgia. Lucrezia was slim and feminine in appearance with long hair nearly the same blonde shade as Leonardo’s but paler.

 

 

 

Lucrezia frowned, and then spoke to Césare, “We need to go, security is getting antsy, and those two women are making rounds today so let’s not risk it.”

 

 

 

Césare huffed, rolling his eyes in a Holier-than-Thou manner, “Let them come, we’re just having a conversation.”

 

 

 

Desmond clenched his hands into fists, just a conversation? Like Hell! Didn’t he get a say at all in this? He felt like he was a prized animal being fought over by strangers. It quite frankly pissed Desmond off. He as a person hated authority, especially if it involved talking about him as if he wasn’t there. Desmond had had enough of that from his father.

 

 

 

The former bartender was riled up and made the error of opening his mouth, “I’m not a damn object to be bought off like a fucking exotic animal…” he said frostily, narrowing his hazel eyes in a pointed gaze at the back of  Malik’s head and Césare’s face.

 

 

 

Césare looked mildly astonished, slightly offended, and excited. The apparent bite in Desmond’s voice was enragement. Maybe he wasn’t easy prey after all?

 

 

 

Lucrezia sneered this time, “This one is feisty, amazing the little bird can speak for himself!”

 

 

 

Robert De Sable licked his lips, eyeing the inmate after his spontaneous outburst in a not so subtle way.

 

 

 

Malik huffed, shoulders stiffening. Desmond’s defiance could get them all in trouble! The war vet turned a heated scowl on Desmond, who surprisingly was glaring back with an equal intensity. However, unlike Malik whose glare scorched, Desmond’s glare was freezing.

 

 

 

Malik burned while Desmond pierced with ice.

 

 

 

Césare seemed to consider his subordinates words. Robert was staring at Desmond intently.

 

 

 

“I look forward to getting to know you.” De Sable smirked; he knew Malik would beat the shit out of him first before he could touch a single hair on Desmond’s head. Robert loved challenges and Desmond was no different. He was going to love breaking this little bird.

 

 

 

Miles’ face frowned at the meaning of Robert’s words.

 

 

 

“Indeed, we’d love a new toy.” Césare grinned. The inmate was about to say something else, when he was interrupted by Lucy heading towards them with hand on her holster.

 

 

 

“Break it up boys! You’re holding everyone up!”

 

 

 

Aveline was with her as well, “You heard her, move on!”

 

 

 

Lucrezia rolled his eyes; he nudged Césare who sighed in annoyance. Robert snorted, walking away towards a corner of the cafeteria were some tables were adjacent to the exit. Lucrezia hurried after De Sable.

 

 

 

Césare gave a Cheshire grin to Leonardo, “It’s not too late to join the right group _amico_.” The grin dropped into a glower when Ezio wrapped his arms possessively around Leonardo.

 

 

 

Leonardo, always the polite one, declined.

 

 

 

“ _Grazie_ for the invitation, however I wouldn’t be of much use. _Mi dispiace_.” Leo gave him a radiant smile.

 

 

 

Césare spit at Ezio’s feet, storming off to catch up with the rest of his group. Auditore merely smirked as he turned to face their friends.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Desmond had forgotten the tray of food he held, his knuckles were white as he gripped it. The man quivered; he was boiling inside with anger. Desmond bit back a smart-ass comment when Malik turned back to him with an unhappy expression.

 

 

 

“What the Hell were you thinking?” the war vet asked flatly, “Are you trying to kill yourself? Because I will gladly hand you over to them if you have a death wish!”

 

 

 

 

 

Desmond’s tongue slipped, “Why don’t you just leave me the Hell alone? I can take care of myself; I’m not some helpless pet!”

 

 

 

Malik motioned for everyone to follow Leonardo to their designated table; he took Desmond by the wrist. Then before he could tug the man to sit with everyone, Miles wrenched his hand from his grasp. Desmond gave his tray to Rebecca who dug into it with a happy grunt.

 

 

 

“Sit.” Malik commanded.

 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

 

Al-Sayf’s entourage turned to stare at Desmond; no one had ever resisted Malik like that before. Desmond’s refusal challenged the war vet. Anyone at the prison with common sense knew the one-armed man didn’t tolerate disobedience.

 

 

 

“Desmond, sit down.”

 

 

 

**“No.”**

 

 

 

Miles’ rebellion was getting him in trouble.

 

 

 

 

“I said sit down. You’ve already caused enough problems.” Malik’s voice hardened, he did not need this right now!

 

 

 

Apparently Desmond was determined to disobey anything he said.

 

 

 

“And I said no! You’re not my father, you’re not my boss, and you’re a stranger to me! All you are is some guy my cousin told me to stay away from! Now I see why, so if you’ll kindly fuck off, I’m going back to my cell.”

 

 

 

The war vet was silent as Desmond stormed off; quietly getting up he told his crew to make sure no one followed him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Miles only made it to the empty hall outside the cafeteria before he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck. The former bartender yelped in surprise. Looking up, all the prepared insults and indignant anger faded out when Desmond saw Malik’s face.

 

 

 

“You’re coming with me.” The tone Al-Sayf used was calm, no other emotion. He’d had enough of Desmond’s insolence; this was Malik’s turf, his domain. Miles would learn to respect him or be thrown to the mutts.

 

 

 

The inmate began to drag the younger to the cells. Desmond struggled half-heartedly; he went still when the war vet grunted in irritation and tightened his hold enough to be slightly painful.

 

 

 

Miles gulped, ‘ _This isn’t good. Not good at all. I just had to be a bold and open my mouth! Malik is probably going to kill me now. Or worse_.’  Desmond thought while he shuddered

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was several minutes before Desmond was pushed forward to be in front of Malik instead of by his side. The inmate stumbled. Oh he was in for it now. Wait this wasn’t even his own cell! The Syrian felt fear spike through him when the war vet behind him pushed the door open.

 

 

 

 “Inside,” Malik said, shoving Desmond into his cell.  He pulled the cell door shut with his hand, the loose cloth of his empty, long, and pinned-up sleeve  swinging slightly in time with the jarring ‘clang’ of the door crashing shut.  The veteran inmate moved passed a wide-eyed Desmond to make himself comfortable on the lower of the cell’s bunks.  On the other side of the cell, Desmond was staring at the now-closed cell door as though it was taunting him by trapping the two inmates together.

 

 

 

Malik leaned back to rest his back against the wall of the cell.  Malik looked at the younger man who stood there trying to decide if he should be angry at Malik or panicked that he was in a small room with Malik. The one-armed war vet stared at Desmond for a moment. 

 

 

 

Desmond Miles was Malik’s little brother’s best friend and former roommate.  Kadar would be horrified to know the danger that Desmond was in from some of the worst of the prison’s inmates.  Kadar, whom Malik purposely kept from knowing about the constant battling for control; the way that the various factions in the prison made life a mirror of the warzones that Malik had fought in; the corrupt guards and equally corrupt prison officials.

 

 

 

Instead, Malik had focused on what Kadar had told him about the life his little brother led; a life that was pure and good in comparison to Malik’s. 

 

 

 

Kadar had written to Malik of many things and his best friend, Desmond Miles, had been in many of his letters. Malik had heard many things about Desmond; enough to make him wish he could meet the person his brother called friend.  To get to know him and learn if he would become friends with Malik as well.  The person that Kadar had described had many traits not often found in the prison…high among them being a strong sense of loyalty.  Loyalty was also a trait of Kadar’s and Malik knew that his brother would be waiting for his friend’s return.

 

 

 

Desmond was one of those pure things in Kadar’s life and now he was in danger of becoming tainted by the other inmates. They would break this little bird—body and spirit both—and send back to his brother a shell of the man Kadar called friend. 

 

 

 

Malik wouldn’t allow that to happen _. ‘Not for Desmond’s sake_ ,’ he told himself, ‘ _but for Kadar’s_.’ 

 

 

 

 He just had to find a way to get Desmond to agree to Malik doing what needed to be done to protect the novice. Simply telling the younger inmate that he would protect Desmond would make Malik look weak, putting them both at risk.  There must appear to be a reason the other inmates would believe in, and he didn’t have faith in Miles’ acting skills. Finally he spoke, breaking the silence between them.

 

 

 

“I am making an offer,” Malik said.  “I can have you transferred to residing in this cell, with me.  Or, you can take your chances with the other inmates deciding they want fresh meat for themselves.”  His grey eyes were steady as they met Desmond’s gaze. 

 

 

 

 

“What are you saying?” Desmond said, angrily eyeing the man that lounged on the bunk on the other side the cell.  While Desmond was as far away from the other inmate as he could get, practically pressing himself against the wall to do so, somehow it didn’t seem nearly far enough.

 

 

 

 Malik looked at the younger man coolly. “You understand exactly what I am offering,” he said.  “I am offering you my protection…and I think that you need it.  Or did that little confrontation in the cafeteria not demonstrate that well enough to you?  The guards will do nothing to protect you; you have nothing to offer them.”

 

              

 

“In fact, if you aren’t careful many of the guards will deliver you to the highest bidder…right to their cell.  My price is a reasonable one and I am willing to let you pay it in the only coin you have.”

 

 

 

 Desmond swallowed.  “You want me to  **do things**  for you…”

 

 

 

 “I am telling you that we are men…with the needs of men.  We currently live with only the company of men.  Allowances are often made for such things,” Malik said evenly.  “I am offering to give you my protection if you meet these needs for me.  I will not force you; however, I would not make such assurances of the others.  De Sable is especially known for being ruthless when he is determined to possess something.  Césare simply wants whatever I have shown an interest in.  I have no doubt that he would be willing to let De Sable enjoy you first and then take you under his wing like a wounded bird when you were too broken to entertain De Sable further.”

 

 

 

“Why me?  I mean, I don’t…I’ve had a  **girlfriend**  before but I’ve—we never—I’ve never dated a guy, much less…” Desmond’s voice trailed off as he saw the steady look that the older inmate was giving him.

 

 

 

 “They all know you are just a little bird—a fledgling—for all that La Volpe tried to tell you show yourself as more.  For some—such as De Sable—it is part of the appeal.”

 

 

 

 “But I don’t really know  **how**  to—“

 

 

 

The man on the bunk across the cell cut Desmond off with a wave of his one arm.  “You are a man,” he said.  “I am a man.  I assume that you know which touches and actions will bring you pleasure?  They are likely to bring me pleasure as well, and I am patient enough to give you time to learn how to perform such acts with me.” 

 

 

 

He gave the younger inmate a look that suggested Malik thought Desmond was deliberately being naive.  “I can be very patient, novice; which is why I am giving you until lights out tomorrow to decide.  The guards will see you back to your cell soon and will keep you safe until tomorrow night…but no longer than that.  Not without a decision.”

 

 

 

 Malik rolled his shoulders, shifting his weight forward to ease rising from the bunk.  He walked closer to where Desmond stood against the wall, the younger man looking as though he wanted to find a way to meld with the cement bricks behind his back.  

 

 

 

 _‘Novice at so many things,’_ Malik mused as he regarded the young man that Kadar had called ‘friend’, ‘ _hiding his panic is only one of them.’_

 

 

Malik rested his hand against the wall just above and behind Desmond’s head and leaned forward, his weight resting on the arm that now bracketed the little bird between Malik and the wall.

 

 

 

“Make your choice,  _habibi,_ ” the older inmate said.  “I will wait to hear it.”

 

 

 

At the sound of the unfamiliar word, the man bristled up at Malik; glaring at the one-armed inmate with angry hazel eyes.

 

 

 

“I’m not your whore, yet,” he snapped.  “You don’t get to call me one—even if it is in a different language.”

 

 

 

There was a twist of lips on the older man’s face that could possibly pass as a bitter smile.  “No,” Malik agreed, his voice flat.  “You are not my  _habibi,_  not yet.  I will not refer to you again as such until you ask me to.” He leaned closer to Desmond to say in a low voice near Desmond’s ear, “But I look forward to the day you plead for me to do so.” 

 

 

 

Malik straightened and pulled away from the man in front of him, the man that now had a slightly confused frown on his face.  Taking a step towards the door, Malik pushed the barred cell door open with his one hand and turned, letting Desmond see the light like heat from banked coals in Malik’s eyes. 

 

 

 “Go,” he told the younger man roughly.  “Go, and think about what your decision will be.  The guard will take you to your cell.”

  
  
 

Desmond looked at the now-open cell door in shock.  “I thought the door was locked…” he said.

 

               

 

Malik let out a low laugh at that.  “Why would I need to lock it, novice?” he asked.  “I have just proven that I can keep you here without resorting to such tactics.”   He released his hold on the door to shove Desmond’s shoulder.  “Go.  It will be lights out soon.”

  
 

* * *

 

Indeed there was a guard waiting for Desmond. A black man that was bald, with piercing dark eyes and seemingly permanent frowns. The security man also had three black lines each under his eyes going downward and stopping at his cheekbones. The ID tag on his uniform revealed his name to be Adewale, most inmates called him ‘Ade’.

 

Adewale gestured to follow with a grumble. Obviously a man of few words. Desmond was about to follow the guard, he stopped short when a question hit his mind.

 

“Quick question before I go.” Desmond turned slightly to face the war vet.

 

“Yes?” Malik raised a brow.

 

“About the confrontation—Um, Césare seemed to be targeting Ezio after the Robert and that other guy left….What for?”

 

Al-Sayf sighed, “The answer will have to wait for later. It may not be my place to tell you. Now go to your cell novice.”

 

Desmond rolled his eyes at the name as he left with Adewale. A door was heard being opened and closed. Keys jangled. Adewale had locked it.

 

Miles had a big choice to make; hopefully he would make the right one. If the former bartender didn’t…well it’d be on Desmond for not finding safety in the offer.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Des make the right choice or hole up again?

**Author's Note:**

> [End of Part 1] 
> 
> Owari~


End file.
